Four walls lullaby
by QueenTrione
Summary: Walls don't tell stories, they merely contain them.


**Four walls lullaby**

Summary: Walls don't tell stories, they merely contain them. (Grissom's POV)

Rating: PG - Because I'm paranoid.

Disclaimer: I'm a poor college student, what does that tell you?

Spoilers: None

A/N: This little piece is supposed to be a glimpse at how Grissom views his personal life and the changes he faces, all the while focusing on the most private space a person has: The bedroom. Or bedrooms, as this story take place in four of them. It was written with G/S bias, but you are welcome to read it anyway you want. 

Many thanks go to my partner in crime for putting up with my angst a beta reading this for me. You rock, girl! 

**Four walls lullaby. **

The shades are down keeping the sun at bay, yet allowing a warm, golden glow to fill the room.  The bed is made, not a wrinkle visible on the wine colored bedspread. Still standing on the doorway, you take a moment to focus on the way the yellow light mingles with the dark color of the bedcover, and on the new tones that spring from their union. You blink once and continue to take inventory. 

There are no framed photographs anywhere, no scattered clothes on the floor and everything seems to be in place. Matching night stands on either side of the bed complement the picture. It all looks nice, welcoming even, yet not inviting for some reason. It lacks…something. Your first instinct is to say 'personality' but you hold back. The sight before you, the comfortable looking bed bathed in the reflection of the desert mid-afternoon sun; this sight has personality. It belongs…to someone. Not you though. 

Bearing that in mind, you strip off your clothes and then slide under the covers, hoping for a dreamless sleep in this foreign bed. 

You'd settle for a fitful nap. But sleep in any form is foreign to you as well.

*********

The space is limited but efficiently distributed. You notice a hint of detachment in the décor, or rather in the lack of it. Books, books everywhere, organized by a system you can't quite comprehend.   The wood blinds are shut, effectively leaving outside the hostile brightness of the afternoon.  There is no golden glow. Only thin slices of light sneaking in through the openings left where the blinds fit the window frames. Still, the room feels warm. The bed is warm, and comfortable. The sheets hold a trace of a fragrance…peaches, and her. 

The humming of the air conditioner has a lulling quality that you find a bit endearing. The room is nice, you decide, even though it seems a bit too practical. There is nothing in the walls or on the bedside table that could tell you anything about its owner that you (and probably the rest of the world), don't already know. The few personal touches come from some scattered things here and there. Nothing looks disorganized though, just hastily put in place.

Before you can continue the assessment of your surroundings, you hear the bathroom door open behind you. She comes out treading softly, keeping the noise to a minimum for your benefit. 

You still can't sleep but, not wanting to disappoint, you chose to fake it.  

***********

The walls are painted ivory white, which means that they're white, but not institutionally so. The white sheets are institutional enough, as are the long drapes hanging by the window and the fake-hardwood nightstands waiting on each side of the bed, a bible lying untouched inside one of their drawers. The place is expensive, yet everything looks cheap and impersonal: the large TV, the small refrigerator, the three pieces of stationary sitting atop the frail looking desk and the frail looking chair parked in front of it. Everything screams standardization. The curtains are drawn inviting a bright grayness to come inside. It's raining in the desert. Outside, the city looks dull, like a dream stripped of all fantasy that has left only a jaded memory behind. The sight doesn't faze you – you've always secretly hated this town. What does startle you is the fact that you feel awfully comfortable here, in this hotel room. Not at home, no, but very much at ease. The irony is not lost on you: that a place so full of lights, glitter and human waste should provide you both with the cover you were seeking, the neutral ground you'd been trying to reach and the anonymity you needed to enjoy it. 

You don't quite like the fact that you're enjoying yourself here, and in the back of your mind, you know she doesn't either.  Not really. Not when she's alone, and she has time to think about it.

No, too impersonal.

Leaving the window, you climb back into bed. By nightfall, both your thoughts and the weather should be in a better state. 

**********

The walls are painted in a creamy color. Something between beige and white, but more white than beige. You know you were told the exact name and reference number but you have to admit you weren't paying attention. Whatever color it is, you find it looks far better without the smell of fresh paint clouding up your brain functions. 

There isn't much in the form of furniture, except for the king sized bed, two small bedside tables and a chair that stands against the wall next to the door. Clothing has been thrown haphazardly into the chair, some falling to the floor next to it. You consider picking it up but decide you're too tired to care about the mess right now.

The heavy, dark-blue curtains are wide open, leaving only a cream colored veil to shield the room against intrusions from the world outside. The sunlight peers through the veil, painting the walls with a warm shade of yellow, filling the room with a sort of glow. The visual calls to your memory, beckoning a sense of déjà vu; it lets you know you've been here before, just maybe a lifetime ago. You give your head a shake and enter the room.

Walking over to the bed, you put the glass you're holding on the bedside table next to you. Settling under the sheets, you slide closer to the source of heat next to you, trying hard not to her wake up. And she doesn't. She just mumbles something incoherent and turns to face you without opening her eyes. You kiss her head and hold her the way she likes.

Seconds later you let sleep overtake you, not giving a second thought to the fact that you're home.


End file.
